


muted screams

by x_Space_Mermaid_x



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Muteness, Sign Language, Skip Westcott (mentioned) - Freeform, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, comfort cuddling, he doesn't appear but it's mentioned, i'll add more tags if they're necessary, let me know if you think something needs tagging and i'll tag it, no beta we die like men, nothing happens in the fic but it's talked about, whilst trying to come up with a summary for this fic the only thing i could come up with was 'oof'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 08:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16991847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_Space_Mermaid_x/pseuds/x_Space_Mermaid_x
Summary: He was over it. He was. But trauma didn't care if it had been months since his last major freak out, because it will rear its head until Peter can get to someone who can help.(or yet another fic on skip westcott)





	muted screams

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is r o u g h. like, absolutely do not read if child rape is something that triggers you, or is generally bad for your mental health. although it's never in explicit detail, if you even think that this might mess you up then please do not read. 
> 
> but with that out of the way, i've always wanted to do my own take on a skip westcott fic and i guess this is the result?? sort of inspired by the fact that when i get so scared i can't speak but it usually only lasts a few minutes for me. don't really see that aspect get used for peter, so i wanted to go a bit more in depth. i wrote the first draft six months ago and dropped it because i stopped writing mcu fics before i no joke just cranked out the last 2k words a few minutes ago. so the last half is uh incredibly rough and written on my phone so quality may be a bit lax. but enough of my jabbering, and on with the fic.

Everyone familiar with Spiderman would be the first to tell you that the vigilante was rarely ever quiet. Always fighting criminals with an abundance of quips and jokes, fast to reassure victims and chatting with those that he helped.

Anyone who knew Peter Parker could tell you that the kid could talk for hours. Talking a mile a minute, he could ramble on about any topic that sprung to mind. He could ask endless questions until his curiosity was sated, fill the silences with comfortable chatter. 

Only one could tell you about the times where Peter grew quiet. As if someone had pressed the mute button on his vocal chords, the times where it was impossible for him to say something even if he desperately wanted to. As if something in his brain slammed the panic button so hard, it caused his muscles to stiffen and his voice to disappear, his breathing rapid. 

The thing was, Peter thought he was over it. Well, mostly over it. There were the few times that he had jolted from a nightmare a scream trapped in his throat, his whimpers barely audible even to his own enhanced hearing. It would take an hour for the locks on his voice to fall away, but they always left, and they only ever appeared in the night on those rare occasions. 

Peter had seen a lot as Spiderman. He’d seen nearly every crime under the sun (though most happened at night) and though some situations had been terrifying, none of them had ever locked his voice away. In a fight that was heavily weighed in the criminals’ favor, slim chances of getting out unharmed? No problem. He’d angered Mr Stark for one reason or another? He hated disappointing him, but he had no problem explaining himself. Close calls with May in terms of hiding his nightly activities? Weak stammering, but his voice was free to fumble for excuses. 

But this time, as he stumbled his way towards Stark tower, his breaths short and fast, it was as if his brain kept pounding on the panic button repeated. His throat was tight, too tight for him to even breathe more than a wheeze. He needed help, he knew he couldn’t deal with this alone. This was so much worse than the times after his nightmares. 

The night had started off so normal as well. 

He’d started whilst it was light, just after six thirty when May took off to work the night shift. Peter liked being Spiderman in the day time, he interacted with more people and helped them with more than just crimes. Helping a bunch of boys in the park find the ball they’d lost, helping a woman with her groceries, giving directions to those hopelessly lost, crossing the road with old women and returning lost dogs to their owners. 

There were the occasional guys who decided to do their crime in broad daylight, snagging a purse as they pushed past a woman or jacking a car from a mostly empty street. Sometimes if Peter got lucky, he could scale one of the tall buildings and watch the sunset over the skyline of New York. 

The sun had just started setting when heard the scream. The sky slowly darkening, and Peter’s skin crawling at the sound. It was the scream of a little girl. He headed towards her as fast as he could, diving off the rooftop and swinging on his webs. He dropped down into alley and before Peter could even register it, his foot hit the man’s head launching him away from the little girl. 

His breaths were fast, he opened his mouth to ask the girl if she was okay but nothing came out. His tongue frozen and heavy in his mouth, his throat tight. He knew he only had a short amount of time before he started to drown in his panic, he webbed the guy against the wall with double the amount than he usually used, then turned to the girl. 

Peter opened his mouth once again to try and ask the girl if she was okay, where her parents was but again, he couldn’t speak. The girl looked no other than seven, her dress rumpled and in disarray, tears pouring down her cheeks. She surged forwards and threw her arms around Peter, burying her face in his neck. 

He wanted to comfort her, to let her know that she was safe now. To tell her that he’d make sure that the man wouldn’t hurt her anymore. But the words wouldn’t come out, he knew he shouldn’t try forcing them, it never worked in the past, but he had to. He picked the girl up, stroking the back of her hair in a hopefully comforting manner as he used his other to keep her held up. 

He held onto her gently, ready to let go if his touch upset her, but she didn’t seem to mind. Peter carried her out of the alley, walking down the street before a worried mother caught sight of him and raced towards them. 

“Jane! Oh my god! Are you alright, sweetheart?” The woman asked, as the girl loosened her hold on Peter and looked at the woman.    
“Mommy…” The girl sniffed, before starting to cry. This time leaning towards her mother, the woman reaching out to take her instantly. She held the girl close and whispered reassurances and held her far tighter than Peter did. 

“What happened? Is she alright?” The woman turned to Peter now. And god, Peter had never been in this situation. He’d never been in the mask whilst his voice was locked away. He dug in a concealed pocket where he stashed his paper and pen for his ever so helpful Spiderman notes he stuck on criminals. He wrote quick and passed it to her, the woman’s eyes bugging as she read the paper before clutching tighter to her daughter. 

‘Child molester. Caught him in the alleyway down the street. Call the police, take care of her.’

He wanted to stick around, to try to comfort the girl one last time, but he couldn’t. He turned back towards the alley, wrote one more (barely legible) note explaining the crime to the police and stuck it to the guy’s chest. 

By the time he was done with that, Peter felt his body shaking, his breathing almost out of control. He needed to get out of here. He needed to find someone familiar, someone who could calm him down, to help him through the panic attack that coursed through his system. 

Before he knew it, Peter was swinging his way towards Stark tower. His first choice was always going to be May in this situation. With her knowing about Peter’s sudden muteness, she would easily be able to calm him down in the way she’d always done since he was little. He’d cling onto her whilst she reassured him that he was safe, her hugs secure and leaving Peter feeling protected rather than vulnerable. 

But May was working right now, and he was suited up. He couldn’t burst in on her at work, pull her away, revealing his identity to her whilst he was panicking so hard. He couldn’t do that to her, so he was going to the next person that he could rely on to calm him down. Mr Stark. 

Admittedly, he never been panicked around Mr Stark. So afraid, filled with dread, sorrow and anxiety. He’d been sad around Mr Stark before, the man cheering him up with a cool feature he designed for the suit or sitting down and watching Peter’s favourite movie before. He’d been scared around him too, a building too close to collapse reminding him a little too much about Homecoming night, Mr Stark helping out and stopping the building from collapsing enough for Peter to get the people out. He’d been in pain around Mr Stark too, a stab happy mugger managing to stab Peter twice, Mr Stark making sure that Peter was well cared for and accompanied him through medical treatment. 

So yeah, Peter was freaking out badly, and he knew it wouldn’t be fun for Mr Stark to deal with right now, but he had little choice. 

He landed on the balcony ungracefully, stumbling a little as black spots danced across his vision. He’d been breathing far too fast on his way over, he could feel himself on the precipice of passing out, he pulled off his mask as he staggered through the doors into the lounge. 

“Kid!” He heard Mr Stark call, just as Peter fell to his knees. Black spots continued to dance over his vision as he stared down at the ground. He panted and gripped his chest, pathetic soundless whines trying to rip their way out of his throat, but the locks held tight. 

“C’mon kid, breathe. Tell me what’s wrong.” He could hear Mr Stark worry, a hand gently gripping Peter’s shoulder, before lowering to rub circles over his back. 

Peter flinched away from the hand with another silent whimper, as he struggled to pull in another breath. Immediately, Mr Stark pulled the hand back to Peter’s shoulder, before unlatching one of Peter’s hands to rest over Mr Stark’s chest. 

“Okay kid, breathe with me here. You’re okay, you’re safe.” Mr Stark reassured him.

It was still horribly difficult for Peter to focus, the black spots covering most of his vision with the blur of tears obscuring the rest. After a few painful moments, he finally managed to draw in a decent breath, shaky and unstable. It took another few minutes to finally calm down enough to get into an unsteady rhythm. 

Mr Stark kept guiding him through the panic attack, using soothing words, continuously breathing steadily, careful not to touch Peter more than a hand on his shoulder and a gentle grip of the hand held to his chest. 

Peter pulled his hand back when his breathing was back under control, using his wrists to wipe away the trails of tears that had dripped down his face. He felt mildly embarrassed to have fallen apart like that in front of his mentor, but he was way too exhausted to let that embarrassment make him leave the room. He just wanted to curl up in a ball where he sat and have a nap. Wooden floor be damned. 

“Wanna tell me what that was about, Peter?” Mr Stark asked gently. 

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but when his throat tightened just with the thought of replying, he closed it. He squeezed his eyes together, his hands clenching and unclenching around the need to sign his answers. Mr Stark wouldn’t know what they meant anyway. 

His hands were still shaking, but he pulled out his trusty pen and paper anyway and wrote. 

‘Can’t.’

Mr Stark looked puzzled at the paper before looking back up at Peter. “What do you mean can’t? Can’t as in you can’t talk about what happened or can’t as in physically can’t?”

‘Physically. Sometimes I get so panicked I can’t speak for a while.’ 

“That’s fine, kid. Hey, do you know sign language?” Mr Stark asked, adjusting his position sat on the floor to lean against the back of the couch. 

“ _ Yeah, why? _ ” Peter signed back with a nod, hopeful. God, he hoped that he’d be able to communicate  _ somehow _ with his mentor outside the shitty pen and paper. His handwriting had been god awful, and although his signs were mildly shaky, the familiarity and wide movements made it easier to do. 

Mr Stark smiled weakly. “Little known fact, Hawkeye is actually 80% deaf, so most everyone in the Avengers is pretty decent with basic sign. But I’m an overachiever, so I learnt the whole thing. Suck at doing it though, hadn’t had much practice in awhile, but I’m still pretty good at reading it.”

Peter’s eyes widened a slight. Wow, he had no idea. Huh. He’d already had a lot of respect for the archer but that fact was something that made it grow just a little bit more. And he also silently thanked the man for providing Mr Stark with the reason to learn ASL in the first place. God knows that Peter needed to talk to someone right now. 

“ _ That’s a relief...You really know what I’m signing? _ ” Peter replied trying to make sure. 

“Yep, I do know what you’re signing. So, you want to talk?” Mr Stark asked, his expression slightly sad and empathetic. 

Peter took in a shaky breath, his hands shaking a little more. “ _ Something happened when I was on patrol that...brought up a lot of memories I didn’t want. _ ” 

Mr Stark was silently thoughtful for a moment, and Peter took the opportunity to think about what he wanted to happen now. He could politely ask Mr Stark if they could talk about something else, they would call in for Thai and watch a movie together if the mechanic wasn’t too busy.

Or...Peter could finally open up and talk about the experience with another person. Someone who wasn’t May or his therapist back then...or wasn’t Ben. He was  _ over  _ it. He was! Maybe it would be easier this time. It wouldn’t be like the nail pulling eight and a half months experience of slowly talking about it with the therapist, done only in shaky beginners sign language that a traumatised seven year old just starting to learn it could do. It took a whole year for Peter to get over his mutism, and then a further six months to start to get over his selective mutism. 

“If you ever want to talk about them, then I’ll always be here for you kid. You might even feel better with it off your chest. But if you don’t want to we can go down to the lab and work, tinker until you’re not thinking about the memories again. Either option is good with me kid, but either way I’m calling out for ice cream.”

Peter managed to huff a silent laugh at the last remark, sniffling slightly as he fought the urge to wipe his nose on the back of his hand. 

“Either way, I’ll always be here for you kid.”

Maybe it was the repeating reassurance that Mr Stark wouldn’t leave him. The worries of abandonment should anyone find out had been soothed, and it made him feel all the more willing to share. 

Peter took a deep breath and nodded, raising his hands to start to sign. Mr Stark took the signal that they were probably going to be there for a while and readjusted his position so he was sat cross legged next to Peter, a hand resting reassuringly on his shoulder. 

Peter’s breath shuddered a slight and moved closer to Mr Stark, the hand on his shoulder shifted to rest over the rest of his shoulder, and pulled him into his side. The comforting hold loosened the rest of the hesitation that had taken root. There really wasn’t any putting it off any longer.

_ “When I was younger, I had a babysitter.” _ He began, his gaze was stuck on his hands or on a far away corner of the room, determinedly not looking towards Mr Stark until he was completely done.

_ “It was just after my parents died, May and Ben hadn’t figured out the whole parenting thing immediately but they tried their best. But they worked until a few hours after I got home from school, so there needed to be someone there to look after me. Because I was only seven and a half years old, too young to leave on my own.” _

Peter swallowed, the tightness in his throat that hadn’t gone away felt as if more pressure had been added to it. The hand was squeezing tighter and Peter couldn’t speak. But that was okay, he had other ways to speak now.

_ “The thing you’ve got to understand is that it wasn’t their fault. May and Ben. They— They never wanted kids, but they tried the best they could. It wasn't their fault. They—” _

“I know, Pete. I know. It wasn’t their fault.” Mr Stark murmured, his voice softer than Peter had ever heard it. It was gentle and patient. It wasn’t judging, merely kind and supporting.

Peter took another shaky deep breath.  _ “His name was Steven Westcott, everyone in the building called him Skip though. He offered to babysit for dirt cheap, and they couldn’t turn down such a good opportunity. Only...he wasn’t a good person.” _

Peter turned silent for a whole minute turning the words over in his head. Had he ever said outright what had happened? He wasn’t sure he ever did. He skittered around the subject when he was younger, using vague terms and waiting for the adults to ask clarifying questions. He wasn’t really sure how he’d exactly say it. Especially to Mr Stark. But he had to. If he clammed up now, he knew that there wasn’t a chance he’d be able to get to this point again. His hands were shaking, he hoped it didn’t make his signs too hard to read.

_ “Whenever he’d babysit, he said he wanted some fun. So he pushed me onto the bed, pulled out a video recorder and...raped me.” _

He’d felt Mr Stark slowly tense the more he’d signed. By now Peter was sure that he was getting the idea, and when Peter signed the last two words, Mr Stark flinched hard. His breathing picking up, his heart rate joining it. The downsides to super hearing was he usually hear stuff like heartbeat even from across the room. Usually he could tune it out if there were many of them, but it was hard to do that when he and Mr Stark were the only ones in the large silent room. 

“H-How long…” Mr Stark’s voice cracked on the words, they came out much weaker and terrified than they had before. Peter found himself missing the comforting and kind tone. The fearful and horrified tone just made Peter want to shut up forever, stuff his hands under his armpits and refuse to bring them out. But he had to push through it. There wasn’t much left to say, and the worst was over.

“ _ Two months. He was arrested when the police got an anonymous tip, they found the videos and he went to jail. He’s serving ten years for it.” _

The two were silent as they stewed in the words. Peter could feel that Mr Stark was on the brink of a panic attack, but by the way he was trying to get his breathing under control, Peter knew the best way to help was to lean into Mr Stark further. The only way to offer comfort whilst keeping his hands free to communicate. 

Mr Stark took one last shaky deep breath before he gently squeezed Peter’s shoulder as a silent reassurance that he was fine now. 

_ “It took a lot, but May and Ben got me to go to therapy. I got better, I was getting over it. Most days go by and I can forget that it was something that happened, I was over it.” _

Mr Stark rested his head against Peter’s, and Peter was thankful for another reassurance. “But something happened tonight.” It wasn’t a question, it didn’t need to be, it was pretty easy to connect the dots.

Peter nodded.  _ “A guy was molesting a little girl, she was about seven. I got her back to her mom before anything too bad happened, but it still made me mute. I couldn’t speak, not when I could hear Skip in my ears telling me to be quiet or else.” _

They were silent for a long while. Peter felt numb, both completely relieved to have finally told another person, and scared because of the lingering fear of people knowing. Overall, he felt exhausted more than anything. So he let himself sit on the floor, leaning into Mr Stark and taking comfort in the smell of motor oil, the warmth of the embrace and the sound of his steady heartbeat.

“Kid...I am so sorry.” Was Mr Stark’s strangled reply.

_ “It’s okay. I’m okay. Or I will be tomorrow I think. Thank you for listening.” _

“Anytime.” Mr Stark squeezed his shoulder again. “I mean it. If you have another encounter that shakes you up like this, come find me. We can watch a movie, one of the good Disney films or something. Do you want to watch one now? I can send your Aunt a message and tell her you’re staying over for the night?”

Peter sighed, burying his face into the man’s chest and wrapping his arms around the man. He nodded gently, and felt a hand run through his curls comfortingly. 

“Alright then, kiddo. Hey FRIDAY, text the kid’s aunt asking if he can stay for the night.”

“Of course, boss.” FRIDAY replied, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Message sent. Would you like me to order food for you both as well?”

“How about it kid, are you hungry?”

Peter pulled away from the hug reluctantly to sign his reply.  _ “Can I just have ice cream for tonight? I’m not really hungry for food-food, but ice cream would be nice.” _

“Of course. FRIDAY we’ll have one order of the mega sundae with all the toppings and a tub of cookie dough.”

“Okay, I’ll have it sent up for you when it arrives. It should be sometime between twenty and thirty minutes.”

_ “Thanks FRIDAY, Mr Stark.”  _ Peter signed, wondering if the AI was programmed to read sign language or not. 

“It is no problem, Peter.” Well that answers one question.

Mr Stark went to stand up, his back making audible clicking sounds as he stretched that made Peter and Mr Stark wince. “I’m getting old kid. How about we watch that Disney movie? Which one you feeling tonight?”

Peter stood and thought for a moment.  _ “Can we watch Coco?” _

“Sure thing.”

A while later found Peter leaning into Mr Stark’s side, both eating out of their respective bowls as they cuddled into each other, both had their attention on the film before them whilst also appreciating the person they held onto. 

And if when Peter had fallen asleep against Tony shortly after the movie ended, and Tony carried him to bed, if Tony had then gone to his room and punched the wall in anger then Peter didn’t need to know.

If Tony hadn’t cursed the name of Skip Westcott out in every way that he could, Peter didn’t need to know that either.

But what Peter did need to know, and did know, was when Tony came back into the room after hours of restless sleep, he ran a hand through Peter’s curls and pressed a kiss to his hair, murmuring “Love you kid.”

Barely conscious Peter replied without hesitation, “Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> and that's that!! lemme know what you think, bc i'm honestly particularly proud of this one?? and also it's one of the only mcu fics that i've actually finished lol. the rest are a bunch of undeveloped ideas or abandoned stories. i've also sort of wrote a companion piece to this, the version where we follow peter as a young seven year old from when the police find out onwards. right now that's halfway done and sitting at 1.5k, i might finish it, i might not but if i do then i'll add it as a second chapter. 
> 
> also probs should have mentioned this in the top notes but this takes place a few months after homecoming but may didn't come home to find him in the suit, so the secret is still safe. 
> 
> i might come back later and edit this if i find any errors, but for now it should be good. and hhhhh yeah!! guess that's it, so lemme know what you think!! i love reading comments!! you guys are awesome!!


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